Tomorrow lightning swords will come
And thunder of cannon.
They will unrivet this roof
Of mighty copper.
Before the eyes of my gargoyles,
In the sound of my forgotten songs,
They will take it.
And as the rain sluices down
I shall have to follow my roof into the war.
EMANUEL MORGAN
Opus 15
DESPAIR comes when all comedy
Is tame
And there is left no tragedy
In any name,
When die round and wounded breathing
Of love upon the breast
Is not so glad a sheathing
As an old brown vest.
Asparagus is feathery and tall,
And the hose lies rotting by the garden-wall.
ANNE KNISH
Opus 118
IF bathing were a virtue, not a lust,
I would be dirtiest.
To some, housecleaning is a holy rite.
For myself, houses would be empty
But for the golden motes dancing in sunbeams.
Tax-assessors frequently overlook valuables.
Today they noted my jade.
But my memory of you escaped them.